Harry Potter and the Warrior Princess
by Ulquiorra Potter
Summary: Instead of Dumbledore, Harry meets Ares and Aphrodite in the white room. He learns that he was once Solan, son of Xena, and that they want him to be again. Reborn in the past to Evil!Xena, he is his own older brother, a warrior who has been raised on the roads, and lost from the eyes of the gods. Now, as Phobos, he must reconnect with the mother who abandoned him.


**Author's Note**: While I was working on Two Times a Half-Blood, I was doing research on the ancient Greek Gods, and suddenly remembered Xena! And very quickly, the thought of Xena exploded into a monstrous plot idea that wouldn't leave me alone. So, here it is. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!

* * *

The raven haired young man stumbled backwards as the green light of the killing curse bathed his body. He didn't try to shut his eyes against the harsh light, but instead watched the events unfold beyond it. He watched the pale snake-like face of his tormentor contort in confusion for just the barest of seconds before he too began to make his descent toward the ground. Behind the Dark Lord, the powerful serpent, Nagini, thrashed inside its protective bubble, before it erupted in a blast of arcane fire.

Without thinking about it, Harry's leg stepped backwards to correct his balance as he began to fall, only to find himself stumbling backwards into a great white void. His head twisted and turned in surprise as he tried to figure out what had just happened, but all he could see was white; forwards, backwards, up and down was nothing but a void that strained his eyes. "Where the bloody hell am I," he asked out loud in shock. "What happened?"

"I happened," a man's voice cut through the air, a voice Harry didn't recognize. Turning toward the voice, he found himself staring at a man he had never seen, but who radiated a power greater than Voldemort and Dumbledore combined. "Hello Harry," the man said with a wicked smile as he stood, towering over the seventeen year old. "I'm Ares, God of War."

Ares was a wall of muscle, standing well over six feet tall, dressed in a black leather vest that did nothing to hide his massive physic. His tight leather pants were tucked into knee high black leather boots. A wild mane of black hair fell to his shoulders, and a thick black goatee covered his face. An ancient Greek sword was sheathed at his waist as he eyed the boy in front of him.

"I have to say," the God of War said with a wrinkled nose, "you aren't nearly as much a soldier as I thought you would have become."

A woman's voice sliced through the blank expanse in answer. "Not every fighter has to look like he belongs on the cover of Muscle & Fitness," the voice said. Turning around, Harry found his cheeks flushing at the sight of a beautiful blond, with large breasts, a toned stomach, and amazing legs, dressed only in a shear nightie sauntering towards them. Her blue eyes were nearly hypnotizing to the teen as she talked. "Hey there, I'm Aphrodite, Goddess of Love," she said in a bubbly voice.

A moment of silence passed, before Harry shook his head, seemingly surprising the goddess as he easily looked away from her. "Oh, I get it," he finally said. "I'm dying, and my brain is creating an elaborate creation of insanity to make the transition easier. It's okay though, I knew I was going to die coming out here, I was in shock, but I accepted it."

The two gods looked at one another for a second, before Ares simply shrugged it off. "Yeah, whatever," he said impatiently. "Look kid, just because that other guy is dead, doesn't mean the war is over, so I've still got work to do, luckily, all of this could pass by in a matter of seconds. We've come to offer you another shot at life, which is far easier to do now that you're dying. We sort of owe someone a chance at happiness, and well, we thought you were the best person to pull that off."

Harry's green eyes stared at the God of War like he was insane. He had just lived through a life of absolute hell, why on earth would he want to do that again?

"Ignore him Harry, he's only here for the heavy lifting, not the thinking," Aphrodite said pleasantly as she moved to stand next to the young hero, sliding an arm around his shoulders. "What we are offering you, not just Harry, but your previous life as well, is a chance to live again, in your proper time," she said as if that had made any sense. "You see, many many centuries... Aw, I'm old Ares... anyway, many centuries ago, a very strong woman had a son, who was killed, but he couldn't get to the Ilse of the Blest, because that takes three lives for one soul, each being worthy of Elysium."

The dark haired god shook his head in amusement. "Now who is confusing him, motor mouth," he said interrupting her. "How much does the kid know about the Underworld, huh? Look, brat, a hero has to live three extraordinary lives to reach the Ilse of the Blest, you've lived one, and were meant for another, but an evil demigod killed you before it was your time. What we're offering is a chance to live two lives, in one shot, and then you'll have to worry about your third life later. You will be reborn in the past, and live, train, become a hero again, and you'd have a mother who loved you."

"My mother did love me," Harry snarled at the god even as he stepped back and away from the goddess who had her arm around him. "Let me see if I understand all of this insanity. I'm the reincarnation of someone who died a while ago, you feel you owe the guys mother, and want me to go back to that time, live again, do all of this monkey arse bullshit over again of becoming some hero, and take over my past self's life?"

"No," said Aphrodite kindly. "It's impossible to shove a soul into a body already housing one, unless you just want to possess yourself. You wouldn't really be alive, you'd just be moving the body. And we can't put you into an already dead body. Resurrection is sort of out of our jurisdiction," she explained. "What we'll do, is have your mother give birth again, a little playing about on our part, will make it possible for you to be born to your mother, meaning you'll exist in two bodies at once, your past self, and your present self."

"You'd be making a woman very happy," Ares said suddenly, causing the other two to look at him. "The woman we're talking about, well, she was a lot like that Bellatrix woman," he admitted, licking his lips in arousal at the thought of the woman, "but she eventually manages to turn her life around, becoming more like that mother of yours, Lily. Losing you...er.. him was a blow she almost didn't manage to recover from, it wasn't until your sister was born that she began to pick up the pieces again."

"It doesn't sound like she needs me," Harry said with narrowed eyes at the two gods. "If this past me had a sister, and that helped her move on, than why burden her with another child? This isn't making any sense what so- THUNK!" Whatever Harry was going to say was cut off as the heavy fist of Ares slammed into his face, knocking him unconscious and sending him collapsing to the ground.

"Was that really necessary," Aphrodite demanded, putting her hands on her hips as she glared at her fellow god.

Ares simply shrugged. "He was annoying me," he said as though that explained everything, before he bent and hefted the teen's soul onto his shoulder as though he weighed nothing. "Let's just get this over with. Hopefully, he won't be such a burden in the past."

* * *

The dark haired warrior stood on the banks of the Mediterranean, glaring off in the direction of Italia as the waves lapped at her swollen ankles. Her stomach was heavy with the child of the traitorous man she had met and shared her bed with, Julius Caesar. Her blue eyes landed watched the waves as she watched the moon begin to set, listening to the sounds of the ocean as it muffled the drunk laughing of her men.

She had been staring out at the coast in anger since the sun had set, but she didn't feel tired in the least. In fact, her mind was riddled with thoughts she would have preferred to have never crossed her conscious. After M'Lila, she had pledged herself to destruction, to death, but inside her body, she could feel life, the soft kicks, and nudges of the bastard growing inside her womb. She had often thought of killing the unborn child, but changed her mind each time, it would be her first, her legacy.

Her legs ached from her own crucifixion plus the added weight of the child, but she tried not to think about it, until the pain hit. The long black haired warrior doubled over, and grabbed her stomach as she tried to fight down the wave of nausea and she ended up tumbling into the sand. It seemed to take seconds for one of her newest recruits, one of the women she had saved along the rode way to join her. The elderly woman took in everything that was happening to the up and coming warlord and let out a curse. "It's time."

* * *

Thin fingers clawed at the battle scarred ground, chipped nails digging into the packed soil as the teenaged boy attempted to crawl away from his latest nightmare. A young boy with long raven black hair, was covered in blood, not just his own but those of the fallen. Under the cover of the night, he was trying to flee, exhausted of laying perfectly still to fool those who called themselves his masters. The teen, once known as Harry Potter, would have chuckled at the plight of his latest life if he had wanted to give away his position or if he remembered his last.

His earliest memory of was fighting, sparring, training with a weapon at the age of four in order to be fed to the enemy as fodder as the rogue band of Spartans waited to rush in. He had survived though, far longer than those he remembered training with at a young age. He had survived long enough on instinct and training to name himself, Deimos. Now, at the age of fifteen, he felt he had an escape for the first time, dragging his body along the outskirts of the bloody battle, a sword planted firmly between his teeth as he struggled for the nearby trees.

He hardly dared to breath, to hope, before his hands clutched at the underbrush. He paused and listened, taking in the sounds of the small squadron of soldiers of he had served laughing and drinking in the nearby tents, and trying to push out the sounds of women screaming in pain and humiliation. He couldn't save them, more than half would be dead by the time the sun rose and the rest would find inventive ways to commit suicide through out the following day. He just wasn't strong enough, not yet at least, to help the poor souls he was forced to leave behind.

Taking a deep breath of air, he bit his lip and with a mighty pull began to drag his cut and bleeding body across the stones and twigs buried in the brush. He would have cried in pain, if he felt he had any more tears to let slip. He had heard the plans, the next stop of the traveling horror show he had been raised in was some piss pot town called Phthia, in the south of Thessaly, meaning, hopefully, he wasn't far from Olympus and the gods would have some sort of mercy on his battered body.

Still struggling forward, he barely noticed as his hand clamped around something that was most certainly not a twig or pile of leaves. Tilting his head upward, he found himself staring at a pair of golden boots, clasped tightly around a pair of impressively strong though feminine milky white legs. His green eyes continued to travel up, ignoring the free show he received beneath her golden skirt, he tried to look higher but exhaustion claimed him, causing him to pass out on the ground, his hand falling free.

Above him, the red headed archer barely paid the boy in mind, as she watched the distant tent and its denizens make merry with their spoils for the day. Her nose scrunched up at the vile display for a moment longer before she looked down at the child who had manged to escape. He had a swimmer's build to his young body, and only the barest minimum to be claimed as armor.

A scarlet pauldron on his right shoulder, and a few arm and shin guards seemed to be all the protection they had given him for battle. His white tunic had been reduced to mud and blood soaked ribbons, and his pants barely fit his body, probably from one of the older men or stolen. With a sigh of exasperation, she bent low, wrapping her arm around the teen's waist with ease before standing. She would take the youth to her temple to be healed by her priestesses, but after that, he would be on his own.

With a final glare toward the camp, she faded away in a shimmer of golden light, leaving no trace that she or the boy had been there at all.

* * *

By the time the youth awoke, the sun was high in the sky pouring light through the skylight of the temple. Subconsciously, the boy winced, expecting the pain from the battle to still plague his body, however it never came. Blinking, he sat up, his eyes scanning the columns and marble walls that surrounded his person, until his eyes landed on the statue to his left. The massive gold and marble image of Artemis stared back at him, as if peering into his soul as lay upon the alter in front of it.

"There you are," a bubbly voice called out, causing the boy who called himself Deimos to turn and look at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His green eyes roamed over her body hungrily, and she seemed to smile and bask in his attention. "Aren't you sweet, but now isn't the time, hot stuff," she said as she strutted toward the boy, wearing nothing but pink lingerie that seemed to match her curly blond hair and milky skin more than any clothing would. "We need to get out of her before Artemis returns. She's gone to consult that pain in the ass, Athena, and I really don't want her to find you."

"Why not," Deimos asked, confused as he slid off the altar, wearing no clothes at all, and not paying any attention to it. He felt a pull toward the strange woman, a want to do something, anything to make her his. His brain though seemed to draw as much blood as it could from other areas in his body long enough to shove the sudden fog from it. "Who... who are you," he asked suspiciously as he took a step back and away from the golden haired beauty.

"Me? I'm Aphrodite, and you, well, we need to work on your name," the goddess of love said with a smile, showing off her amazingly white teeth from between her full red lips. "There already is a Deimos, my nephew, the God of Terror, and well, we really don't need you drawing attention to yourself," she said with a calm, but still rather husky, voice. "Now, come on, we need to go see my brother, Ares. We've been trying to locate you for years, punk."

The raven haired teen shook his head as he eyed the woman. "I've spent my entire life praying to the gods, and you only show up now? Why?"

"Because we couldn't find you, well I couldn't, not a whole lot of love in bandit camps," the woman said with a shrug. "Ares probably would have been a better at finding you, but he's been way to preoccupied with your mother." The goddess explained, before she snapped her fingers, causing the Temple of Artemis to melt away like ice left in the sun, to be replaced by a formidable temple of black and red. "For crying out loud, I keep telling that muscle headed oaf that he needs to redecorate."

"I don't know, it would seem to fit," Deimos said as he inspected the weapons and armor that lined the walls of the temple. He smiled slightly as he felt the goddesses eyes inspecting his muscled body. "See something you like?"

"Not in my temple she doesn't," the brutal voice of Ares interrupted, causing both goddess and mortal to look toward the entrance of the temple where the God of War made his presence known. "So, you finally found him," Ares said looking between his sister and their pet project. "Just in time too, Xena just met with Hercules, she's decided to forgo the whole conquering thing. I have to tell you, I'm pretty disappointed, I rather liked that other timeline where she conquered the world from Jappa to Britannia, but that isn't the world we'll get."

Deimos stared at the God of War for a long moment, before shaking his head. "Are you trying to tell me that my mother is Xena? The Warrior Princess, Destroyer of Nations gave birth to me," he demanded with narrowed eyes. "Why one earth would I want to do anything involving that woman? She obviously didn't give a damn about me. Where was she was I was being stabbed and beaten? Off trying to make herself more powerful most likely. Well, pardon my Italian, but fuck that."

"Xena has changed though, for the better," Aphrodite said complacently as she moved toward the young man. "She's not that woman anymore, I swear. The rage, brutality and hatred that ruled her heart has changed, thanks to our half brother," she said with a warning look at Ares who seemed to want to rant about it. "Now, lets get you dressed and we'll help you find a new name so that your old... friends can't find you as easily."

Ares huffed. "Take whatever armor you want, kid. I've got tons of the stuff, and more copies than I can showcase in a thousand temples," he explained. That, was how the young warrior managed to dress himself in a heavy, form fitting leather chest plate, with tight leather pants. Bronze pauldrons were fitted around his shoulders, and thick iron guards were fashioned to his forearms. Heavy boots, covered in iron were fitted around his feet and shins, as he snatched up a sword, shield and spear from the displays, throwing the shield over his shoulder to protect his back from surprise attacks. The last thing he took, was a bronze helmet, that covered everything besides his eyes and nose, with an iron crest running for the forehead to the base of his skull.

"My, my," Aphrodite breathed as he re-emerged in his new armor. "Do we have to send him back so soon," the goddess whined as she bounced toward the teenaged warrior and draped herself over him without pause, gently grinding her pelvis into his side and pressing her ample breasts against his bare arm. "Just look at how manly he is, he'll put the fear of... well us into anyone who comes across him," she said happily. "Oh, that's it," she suddenly cried out. "It's a bit of a step down from terror, but Deimos won't have any reason to get upset now, will he, Phobos?"

The god of war stood silently, taking in the son of Xena's new look. "Damn it," he growled in annoyance. "Why couldn't he have been my son," the god almost seemed to whine. "But yeah, I suppose if he wants to, he can be Phobos. Who would dare argue the point," he said as he moved toward his throne and sat in it, blowing a breath. "Look, just go meet Xena alright," he said seemingly out character in his compassion for the woman. "She's changed, we know it, we can feel it, but maybe... maybe having you around will help her stay on the road to her true destiny."

The young man, now called Phobos seemed to think for a moment, his hand idly sliding onto Aphrodite's waist as she was still beside him. "Fine, I'll go find Xena," he said after a long moment, before his green eyes slid to Aphrodite. "But first, there is something I really need to take care of," the warrior grunted as he stooped low and lifted the goddess into his arms and began to walk back toward the room where he had changed.

"Hey! I said not to do that in my temple, damn it!"

"If you want to stop us, your more than welcome to come in here and try," the voice of Phobos called back from deeper into the temple.

Ares stood, as if to do just that, but heard the sudden, impassioned cry of his sister, and screwed his eyes shut. He didn't want to see what was going on, and he didn't want to hear it either! With a shudder of unwanted images in his mind, he disappeared, chased out of his own temple by the cries and moans of pleasure inside the temple of war.


End file.
